


dramatis personae

by arbitrarily



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Identity Porn, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-08 09:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitrarily/pseuds/arbitrarily
Summary: Flip wants to know everything about Ron. Some things are easier demonstrated than told.





	dramatis personae

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plutonianshores](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonianshores/gifts).



 

“They ain’t never met me. All you’ve got to do is sound like me. That’s it.”

Flip points towards Ron. “And think like you. There’s more to an act than the voice, rookie.”

What Flip’s finding he likes about Ron is how his face goes quiet and contemplative when he hears something that negates his own premise. No ego in it, just openness, tempered by his own natural stubbornness. Flip wonders if his own face could do that too; he doubts it. He’s pretty sure he’s all ego.

“Yeah, man. But you get you’re not playing the real Ron Stallworth here, right? You’re playing the Ron Stallworth designed with white supremacist studio audiences in mind. You’re front of the bus Ron Stallworth.”

Flip snorts. They’ve been holed up in Ron’s apartment for the better part of the evening. Ron’s place is like any other cop’s place: ill-tended and nondescript. Flip took it all in the moment he walked through the front door. It becomes instinct, second nature, casing any room you enter as if you were cataloging it for a future crime scene. It becomes even worse after working undercover for any amount of time. It gets in your head; you’re always checking for an exit.

“What I am saying,” Ron continues, “is that’s my name you got in your mouth. Treat it nice, is all.”

The coffee table in front of them is littered with empties, the beer in Flip’s hand down to the dregs. Flip casts a lazy glance in Ron’s direction, his eyes hooded. He doesn’t know why he says it. He’s not himself already. Maybe he just wants to see Ron—the real Ron, the one seated across from him, earnest as anything—sweat for once. He always knows how to play it so fucking cool.

“Yeah? And what've you got in your mouth?”

The pause that follows is awkward enough to leave Flip feeling wrong-footed. He’s wondering if he pushed too far when Ron’s face finally cracks in a grin. “What’s that then? An invitation to a demonstration?”

That fucking easy. Flip doesn’t know if it’s the beer or if this possibility’s been sitting in the room between them all this time. Or maybe Ron really is just that impulsive. Wouldn’t surprise Flip, based on what he’s seen of Ron so far.

“Only if you consider it an integral part of character-building,” Flip says.

Ron laughs, good-natured. He’s already moving towards Flip. “Character-building my ass,” he says. ”You just wanna get your dick sucked.”

Ron’s not wrong. Flip doesn’t move, lounged back on Ron’s sofa. He’s always liked the lead up to an op. There’s something about undercover work, always gets him hot. The obvious adrenaline, that high-wire feel of getting away with something when what you really should be getting is caught. Letting yourself become someone you know you're not. Covert, wrong-headed, bad idea with a capital B fucking—that fits the bill, too.

So, “Yeah,” Flip says. “Maybe I do.”

“Well, all right then.”

He watches Ron take to his knees, his hands already pushing Flip’s legs apart.

Flip doesn’t usually go in for this homo shit. Not really. But getting your dick sucked is getting your dick sucked. The mouth doesn’t have to matter. It doesn’t. That’s Ron’s problem, on his knees, hands on Flip’s belt, playing at cocksucker. Not Flip’s. He’s not Ron, not yet.

The apprehension that settles low in his gut is almost as thrilling as the hot tide of want suddenly swelling. His eyes drift down to Ron’s mouth and that mouth twists, knowingly.

Flip tips his head back, looks up at the ceiling, as Ron works his belt open, his pants next. It feels wrong, so he looks back down at Ron, at his own cock. He watches Ron take hold of him, too light and too loose to give him much of anything. More like a test. No, the exit—he’s found it, it exists. Ron’s gonna make him be the one to tip them over the line.

He can do that.

Flip spreads his legs that much wider. “Am I gonna have to put cocktease on the list of Ron Stallworth traits to keep in mind, or?”

Ron chuckles. Squeezes at the base of Flip’s cock, and that’s more like it.

“Hold your fucking horses, I’m a man who delivers.”

No fucking kidding. Flip has no interest in interrogating the sexual history of Ron Stallworth, real or invented, but he sucks cock like a goddamn champ.

“Motherfucker, rookie,” Flip grinds out, the second word rising on an incredulous start to a laugh. Ron's mouth is hot and tight, wet, and he takes him down easy and deep, no hesitation. Flip squirms under him. His hands fist into the couch cushions. He wants to touch him; he doesn't want to touch him. Touching him makes this real, not the pretend that's dominated this prep session, and the thought makes his hips buck. Flip feels as much as hears the strangled noise Ron makes. He reaches then, his fingers tracing along Ron's stretched mouth, before Ron bats his hand away. 

There’s an aggressive edge to it all, like Ron is trying to prove something. Prove himself. Flip thrusts into his mouth and Ron takes it, moans with it even. Gives back more in return and makes Flip mutter a string of words under his breath populated primarily by a repeated _fuck_. This is good, it’s stupid good. He watches as Ron yanks his own pants open, gets his own cock in hand. Only fair they both get off, he thinks, two men and the same name. Two men, essentially fucking themselves. It's like Ron—the Ron Stallworth they created and the Ron Stallworth with his cock in his mouth—are people he has never met until now, and he’s going to have to work hard not to think of this every step of the job. Gonna have to learn how to say the name _Ron Stallworth_ without thinking about coming down the man’s throat.

Which is what he does, unceremoniously, watching through lidded eyes as Ron tries to keep up, come and spit dripping out his mouth.

When he's got his breath back, Flip nods towards Ron. Towards his cock, unattended and leaking. “You gonna finish or what?”

Ron wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. He leans back on his heels and he looks up at Flip. Drags his hand in one fluid motion up his shaft only to twist at the head. “Hope you’re taking notes,” he says. His voice rings with the same false brightness as the one he uses on the phone. “ _Ron_.”

 

 

 


End file.
